Widow in White

Chapter Three: The Only Decent Thing

Richard rearranged his clothing in the dark study and waited until his heartbeat subsided and the heat in his cheeks had cooled. Then, reluctantly, he returned the other way to the salon where the dancing was over and people were settled round in clusters talking in low voices or playing cards.

There was no opportunity the rest of the night for him to think about what he had done. He was too busy pretending to be sociable and friendly, so as not to draw suspicion to his long absence. Had he known it, there was nothing he could have done to draw less suspicion to himself; he was so habitually brusque to even his closest friends that his sudden change of temper left everyone he talked to in deep confusion. But Lord Brocket didn't have the imagination to light upon the truth of Richard's absence, and no one else cared enough about him to wonder at it.

It wasn't until the next morning, waking in his own bed, that Richard had the solitude and peace of mind to reflect on it. He lay, staring at the ceiling, and cast his mind back over last night with shock and— he tried to squash it, but it was certainly there —pleasure. The image of Laura's flushed face and bared breast rose up before him and he blinked it away. The ghostly sensation of her heart beating against his cheek teased him, and he wiped his cheek hastily. The smell of her hair—the sound of her suppressed moans—My father would be furious if he knew.

He kicked himself hastily out of bed and went to the window, where a cool chill was echoing off the glass. Outside, it was raining, and his estate was blurred into streaks of grey and green.

Her bitten off laughter echoed in his ears, and for a moment he thought he felt the tensing of her fingers against his back. He shook himself. Pathetic. That he should be so effected by a woman whose only true desire was to defy her father. That he should be so wanton as to have done such a thing in the first place.

And the only decent thing to do now was marry her.

He watched the rain flood down in sheets and toyed with the idea. Years ago, he had seriously attempted to find himself a bride and been unsuccessful. Not even his wealth and title could convince one of the women he approved of to marry him. As years had passed, he had given up on the idea, withdrawn further into his own company. And then, unexpectedly as an earthquake, he'd fallen in love... with his younger brother's wife.

At one time (it may have been as recent as the previous evening) he had believed that this unrequited love meant that he would never marry, that there was no point. His mésalliance last night had thrown into sharp relief a certain absence in his life — an absence which could filled by others than Verity.

A pleasant daydream rose up before him, in which the empty, echoing hallways of his house were filled by a pleasant, soft voice; in which his coffee was poured by fair, gentle hands; in which he fell asleep at night to the lullaby of a woman's breathing.

My father would be furious if he knew.

The dream shattered. There would be no companionship with Laura, even if she had given him pleasure. She was not an unknown quantity on which he could build a daydream. He had known her forever. Even as a little girl, she had been bad tempered, cutting, and cruel. And now, grown woman as she was, unlikely to change, he would be scarred again and again by her vicious wit, her cynical heart, her spiteful mind.

And the only decent thing to do was marry her anyway.

For several days, Richard wrestled uneasily with his conscience on the issue. He was not an unscrupulous man. Rather, he was ruled by a set of principles so strict they could almost be called prudish. They had always forbade him from indulging in the sorts of foibles so common to the upper class gentlemen who could have anything they wanted for the taking. Now, they compelled him to make Laura an offer of marriage, which he had no doubt, in the cold light of morning, she would accept. But the more he considered marrying Laura, the more he realized how unhappy she would make him. Even that night, as she had seduced him, she had done so with words that wounded.